A Matter Of Fact
by explanations
Summary: Six things about Sam Puckett that keeps Freddie Benson awake at night. SamFreddie.


Sometimes you think she breaks all of your rules.

She is a breaker by nature, absconding the opponent's recoil every time (you once told her this – she had laughed at the Pokémon reference and stole your DS; you had to play on an emulator for a week, but you were too busy converting the sav files to get mad), playing to win and always _does, _because no matter what you did_ s_he was always one step ahead of you, either by a landslide or an orange and it's hard to deal with that because she wears the pants (in your platonic relationship, of course) and you just want to show her that you _can_ take care of her, no matter what she insists is under your jeans.

Fact: you never really forgave her for the orange thing – not only did she not use any effort, but she challenged your core belief that hard work + facts = success, though she's been challenging your core beliefs a lot lately.

(But you don't like her, no.)

* * *

Sometimes you think about why she is the way she is.

Life with Sam is like a constant roller coaster – it's either gut-hitting joy or puke, and it goes again and again and it's never enough no matter how much you shell out. (You realize that in comparison, Carly is the merry go around – pretty, fun, and always one of the main attractions for all ages - but you can only go around so long before you get tired and fall asleep in the decorated benches and maybe fall off the horses.)

You didn't dare tell Sam that one.

(You were an obedient baby, a compliant child, and a dutiful teen; you can only imagine what you've done in the past life to deserve her just walking in and all over you, though your mom doesn't help. You play with the theory that you're a release for all her pent-up anger at her mother, because hers never care and yours smother, but you dismiss that quickly because you don't like humanizing her – you'd rather think of her as the blonde demon that's the only negative of doing iCarly with your true love. But lately the evidence has started to pile up and you get this funny little feeling in your gut whenever she mentions her mother and Melanie and Frothy with a humorous jab.)

Fact: you've taken to keeping fat cakes in your locker and stocking ham in your refridgerator - just in case.

(But you don't like her, no.)

* * *

Sometimes you think you absolutely cannot stand her.

It's when she does something that makes you wanna tear your hair off your head; it's when she looks at you with that gaze that you can never decipher because she's such a fucking _puzzle_; it's when she tells you you're worth absolutely nothing you complete loser and you will never amount to anything in life or find anyone to love besides your little crush on Carly that will, oh, did she mention, never happen? You know this and she knows this, and it hurts _because_.

(As much as Carly is your dream girl, that was just it. She was a mirage; a misdirection. And the more you get to know her the more you're sure of that, because the images of her somehow reflected into something else in blonder pastures. But you love her - you're sure of that. You just don't know which way, and really, you don't think you want to find out, because Carly is the one constant in your life, and you can't afford losing her or what she means – _more _what she means.)

So she says all of this with nary a blink, and you get hurt, but puts it behind you, because the upcoming graduation has her tied up in knots and bended backwards and you know how it feels (she's either hugging Carly or slugging you and you're mystified by the difference and what it meant; you've always liked to decipher but this is one hell of a code and you're no Dan Brown). So you take as much of it as you can in stride, because somehow it makes her happy and when she's happy you're happy, and again, you're no Dan Brown, but you know what it meant.

Fact: you don't like Carly.

(But you don't like _her_, no.)

* * *

Sometimes you think that she's gorgeous.

It's probably the hair; it forms into perfect blonde curls, shining, reflecting back to whatever gives it light (kind of like the possessor herself, you muse as you examine her one day during a rehearsal). Always bouncing with energy, and _reflecting_ (always reflecting.) You don't know what gives it it's shine (Sam claims that she doesn't use products, but Melanie does and you've never noticed her hair - it was in a pony tail during your date, and if it was down you think you might have kissed her back; but no, you're not going down that road if you could help it.)

Fact: she's draining your resistance with every flip.

(But you don't like her, no.)

* * *

Sometimes you think that you understand her better than anybody.

As much as Sam loved to win, she hated to lose, and she seldom does, to you at least. But there's one person who Sam never wanted to compete with – because Missy? Valerie? _Please_, she would love to let them know their place – but with Carly, she was never sure she would win. Maybe because she doesn't, you think, as Carly goes out with another hare-brained muscle who Sam casually mentions in conversation, and you only feel a little bad, so you stay home and play The Guild instead of going over to her house to help her feed Frothy in another night alone. (It's not like anyone has to know that it was you who hacked into her phone to remove all the date-texts the next morning.)

And her mother – she doesn't mind (sure) and doesn't care (hah) that she barely acknowledges her and when she does, it's a rough demand or a surprised recognition and something flits through her expression like it cut her. But you've got nothing to tell her because bring up your own mother will just make it easier for her to understand and lash out - that's not what she needs - and Carly doesn't even remember her own mother so she can't help there, and with no one to understand the anger and a bit of hate stays and comes out the way all Sam's festered emotions do.

Fact: you take the lashing when it comes (she never said she made good decisions).

(But you don't like her, no.)

* * *

Sometimes you think you like her.

Maybe it's the sparkle in her eyes when she's having a rare ham induced mood – maybe it's the laughter while she's dancing to Susie Suh though they're hardly songs to move to – maybe it's because it's the way she makes you feel, the sensation of her hands on your arms, the laughter when you're finally getting along and maybe it's something else. The tense moments, the sweet ones, _all_ of them and the way they make you feel, like you can maybe fly (and take her with you because maybe she completes you; Carly's an asset, but she's the other half and you finally got around to reading the instruction manual.)

So maybe this thought freaks you out a little bit all of the time, because as much as the data matches up it shouldn't (she's the iPod earphones to your Zune and the pineapple to your pepperoni and it really shouldn't_ work so godamn well _but it does and maybe you like it. Just a little bit?)

She laughs and takes your hand when you tell her this, intertwining your hands together and putting down the shared earphones so she can hear you say it again; you taste the pineapple in her breath and sighs, because the satisfaction a spherical formula gives you cannot compare to this – and it's not like Stephen Hawking never tweaked the formula.

But you don't like her, no.

You _love_ her.

(Fact.)

* * *

My first fanfiction written entirely on my own! I am so glad this is done, because this is basically all of my thoughts on seddie condensed into one one-shot. Tell me what you think!


End file.
